


The World Where We Belong

by korlaena



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, Graphic Description of Injuries, HP: EWE, Healer Draco Malfoy, M/M, Panic Attacks, Songfic, the beach boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-05-26 10:20:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14998799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korlaena/pseuds/korlaena
Summary: Draco has everything. He has a beautiful house, a career that he loves, and he’s engaged to Harry Potter and planning their wedding. But as soon as he thinks he has life figured out, Draco is given a harsh reminder of just how tenuous it can be.





	The World Where We Belong

**Author's Note:**

> First I want to give my thanks to the mods for organising this fest and all of the hard work they've put into it, thank you all!
> 
> And to my incredible beta [restlessandordinary](http://restlessandordinary.tumblr.com/) who helped me make this fic the best it could be by cleaning it up, and providing such great thoughts and comments, thank you so much!
> 
> Thanks as well to the amazing [Saulaie](http://saulaie.tumblr.com/), who helped me figure out a title when I was at a loss. The title comes from the lyrics the song is inspired by. 
> 
> This fic is written for the 2018 HD Wireless Fest. The prompt is my own, which is the song Wouldn't It By Nice by The Beach Boys. You can listen to it here: [on Youtube](https://youtu.be/nZBKFoeDKJo), or [on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/track/2Gy7qnDwt8Z3MNxqat4CsK).

Draco draws in a slow breath and exhales it through his nose. He smacks his lips sleepily, tongue moving around to wet his dry mouth as he ascends slowly into wakefulness.

The light filtering in through the curtains has Draco blinking rapidly as his eyes adjust. He runs his hand over the empty space in the bed beside him, feeling over the cool sheets and grabbing Harry’s pillow to breathe it in.

It’s been a long time since waking up to find Harry gone had scared him. Now, Draco can smell the telltale scents of coffee and bacon wafting up from the kitchen, and he knows that Harry got up earlier to make them breakfast.

As he rises slowly into full consciousness, Draco also becomes aware of the fact that he has woken naturally before his alarm has gone off, meaning he still has some time to laze before needing to get up.

Draco yawns and stretches out on the bed, lingering for a few more precious, sleepy minutes, and then he pushes himself to get up. 

Draco goes through his morning routine as usual: he pees, brushes his teeth, showers, applies his skincare products, styles his hair, and then pulls on a freshly cleaned and pressed St Mungo’s Healer uniform that will probably be a wreck by the end of his shift. 

When Draco finally makes it downstairs, the scene he walks into is a familiar one—Harry at the stove swaying his hips and singing along to the Muggle music from his CD player on the counter. 

Draco moves behind Harry and slides his hands around his waist, pressing against his back. 

“Beach Boys? Again?” Draco can feel Harry’s smile when he plants a kiss on his cheek.

“You know it’s my favourite song,” Harry says, turning his head to grin at Draco and get a real kiss. 

“What? I had _no_ idea,” Draco says in mock surprise against Harry’s lips and smirks. 

Harry’s grin turns more playful before he starts rocking his hips and loudly singing along with the song, “ _Maybe if we think, and wish, and hope, and pray, it might come truuue_.”

“Potter, you know the rule. You’re not allowed to serenade me before I’ve had my morning coffee,” Draco huffs and slaps Harry’s arse, trying to keep a stern expression on his face.

Harry just grins wider and continues singing blithely over Draco’s protests, “ _Baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't dooo_.”

Draco rolls his eyes and pulls away from Harry. 

He knows it’s coming, and he expects it when he’s reaching up to pull a mug down from their cup cabinet—Harry abandons his breakfast duties to grab Draco’s hips, pushing them side to side to start them swaying in time to the song. He presses close behind Draco to sing into his ear.

“ _We could be marriiiied! And then we’d be happyyy! Oh wouldn’t it be niiice?_ ”

“It would be nice, actually, as long as you remember to call the florist today. And don’t forget to pick up the rings, the jeweller said they’d be ready this afternoon,” Draco reminds him as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

Harry smiles against his neck, then kisses behind his ear and pulls away. “You got it, babe. Two rings and ten dozen red roses coming right up.”

Draco huffs and tries to hide a small smile behind his mug as he takes his first soothing sip of coffee. He knows Harry knows that Draco abhors red roses. It had probably been the first thing he’d made clear when they started the wedding planning. 

“I’m working a twelve-hour today, so I won’t be home until late tonight,” Draco says as he turns and leans back against the counter, watching Harry remove an omelette from the pan and plate it.

He notices the lunch Harry’s prepared for him sitting on the counter and makes a mental note to remember to grab it on his way out.

“Okay, I can have dinner ready when you get home. Anything you’re in the mood for?” Harry asks as he turns off the stove and starts moving their breakfast to the table. 

“Hmm, something with asparagus? I’ve been craving asparagus.” Draco helps him carry the food and drinks and then settles in across the table from him. 

“Sure, maybe my salmon and capers recipe you like? Roast asparagus and potatoes on the side?” Harry offers and then waves his wand to turn off the music. “And then for dessert some rimming?”

“Mmm, sounds perfect.” Draco smirks. “Now say it back to me. What are you supposed to do after work today?”

Harry rolls his eyes at Draco, but he plays along. “Call the florist, pick up the rings, cook you a fabulous dinner and then make you come with my tongue up your arse.”

“Yes, well, that last one is dependent on the first two. Call the florist. Pick up the rings. Don’t forget,” Draco says sternly.

“You forget one bloody appointment…” Harry mutters and shakes his head, but he’s smiling in amusement—humouring him because he knows how stressed Draco has been about the wedding planning.

The conversation shifts and they chat about various topics as they eat breakfast. Afterward they clean up together and get ready to leave.

“Draco?” Harry calls from the living room.

Draco smiles, waiting for it—

“Have you seen my shoe?”

“Which one?” Draco asks, unable to keep the amusement out of his tone.

“The left one!” Harry calls. 

Not that he needs Harry to tell him, Draco knows. It’s always the left shoe. 

Nearly every evening that Harry comes home drunk he kicks his left shoe off harder than he realizes, never notices where it ends up, and then can’t find it the next morning. 

It’s always Draco who finds it for him, and last night Harry had come home bladdered after catching up with old friends, meaning—yep, there it is. 

Draco fishes Harry’s left shoe out of the offensively ugly troll leg umbrella stand that Harry refuses to get rid of. You would think Harry’s aim would get worse when he’s piss drink, yet almost every time he clears the umbrella stand perfectly.

“Is this the one?” Draco calls back to Harry, and Harry moves into the entryway. 

His eyes light up when he recognizes his shoe. He takes it from Draco and presses a quick kiss to his lips.

“That’s the one, thanks babe. Don’t forget a cloak today.” 

While Harry wrangles his shoe on, Draco takes his cloak from the coat rack and throws it over his shoulders. Winter has finally turned into Spring, but it’s still nippy enough outside to warrant the extra layer. 

Draco catches Harry looking him up and down, and then he gestures at Draco to wait. “Hold up.”

Harry leaves Draco in the entryway hall, then returns a minute later with Draco’s lunch and a thermos of coffee in hand. 

“Don’t forget your lunch,” Harry chides with a small smile, handing the items over to Draco. “And here’s more coffee so you won’t bite everyone’s head off.”

“My hero, what would I do without you?” Draco drawls sarcastically.

“Crash and burn,” Harry says with a smile, eyes full of affection as he puts a hand around the back of Draco’s neck and reels him in for a kiss. 

Draco sighs into it, shifting the coffee so he can run a hand over Harry’s shoulder and deepen it. When he opens his mouth to Harry their tongues and lips start in a familiar dance developed over years spent together. 

Harry puts a hand on the small of Draco’s back, pulling them flush and delving a little deeper, drawing the kiss out a little longer than their usual morning kiss goes on for. Draco isn’t complaining. 

After a minute Harry pulls away, nipping at Draco’s bottom lip playfully and then stepping back to grab his keys from the hook next to the door.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Harry says suggestively, his tone and certainly that kiss, indicative of what Draco can expect to come home to. 

“Not if I see you first,” Draco flirts back easily. When he thinks about it he’s not even sure what it’s supposed to mean, but it gets a laugh out of Harry which is enough for him.

He reaches up and runs his hands over Harry’s crooked collar to straighten it, then puts a hand through his wild black curls to try and sort out one particularly bad cowlick on the side of his head. 

Harry raises an eyebrow at Draco, and Draco gives up the pointless effort with a small huff. He knows Harry’s hair does what it wants, regardless of how Draco tries to help, but at this point it’s become part of their routine and Draco loves their routine. 

Harry twirls his keys around his finger and winks at Draco, then opens the door for them. Draco can’t stop his eyes honing in on the keys, and he sighs quietly then steps through the door. 

Harry steps out behind him onto the stoop, closing and locking the door behind them. 

Draco eyes the car in their driveway disdainfully. “You and that damn Muggle Death Trap,” he mutters and then turns to look at Harry when he feels a hand rubbing over his shoulder. 

Harry gives him an expression that seems fondly exasperated. 

It’s an old fight between them. Draco knows better now than to argue with any real conviction for Harry to get rid of it, but it’s still hard not to express his distaste every now and again—he likes to let his dislike of it be known.

He doesn’t understand why Harry won’t use much faster and safer wizarding means of travel. 

Draco turns toward Harry and steps back up to him, pulling them together with a hand on Harry’s hip. “You know, if you didn’t drive that thing you would have an extra half hour every morning,” he says suggestively, leaning in so their lips are close but not touching. 

“Oh yeah?” Harry breathes, mouth turning up in a slow smile as he winds his arms around Draco’s waist.

“Mhmm.” Draco presses his forehead to Harry’s and nods. “Just think of all the things we could do in that time.” 

Draco watches as Harry’s tongue peeks out and runs along his lips. 

“Sounds tempting,” Harry whispers. “Only, you’d have to get up a half hour earlier in that case.” 

Harry pulls back and gives Draco an amused, knowing look. Draco huffs.

Draco has always struggled with getting up in the morning. He never saw a point in getting up earlier than necessary, that is, not until he started dating Harry. Not until waking up an hour earlier meant watching Harry dance and sing to the Beach Boys, making out in the kitchen and then burning the eggs because they spent too long making out, eating a home cooked breakfast together, finding Harry’s left shoe for him and trying to fix his impossible hair, and Harry making sure Draco never forgets his lunch or his cloak. 

“Get going or you’ll be late,” Harry tells him, diving in for one last, quick kiss and then heading down the porch steps to his car. 

He’s right, but Draco waits and watches him drive away before he apparates to work.

\- — -

Only three more hours. Three more hours and then Draco can finally go home to Harry and dinner and hopefully some mind-blowing sex. 

Draco is tired, he’s used to twelve hour shifts by now, but today has been a shit day. In the first twenty minutes of being on shift he had a patient chunder on him, and that is a pretty great indicator of how the rest of his day had gone. 

No matter how many Scourgifies Draco used on his robes he just can’t shake the smell. It must be in his head, but he can’t help feeling that he smells like vomit, and the crusty, somewhat darker spot left on his robes has made him twitch every time he’s had a moment to stop and remember its existence.

Luckily, it’s been a busy shift and his mind has been kept occupied for most of the day. The time has flown, and he’s barely had a moment to think about the dinner and sex that await him. Now though, now he has a moment. 

He’s on the last break of his shift, enjoying a snack and chatting with a coworker. While going back and forth exchanging stories of their nightmare clients of the day, in the back of his mind he’s been thinking about Harry, wondering if he remembered to get the rings and call the florist. 

“So I told him, if you spit on me _one_ more time—” Draco cuts off from his story when he feels his wand vibrating. He reaches into his pocket to pull it out. “Ah, sorry, my—” His stomach drops out and his head goes sort of blank and fuzzy when he sees that the tip is glowing red. _Red_. 

Which can only mean one thing. 

“Draco?” Susanne asks him, brow creased in concern.

“I—I—I’ve got to—I can’t—I need to go,” Draco stutters out, “Harry. An emergency, I have to—”

“Go then! Go!” she urges him, shooing him away. “I’ll tell Perez.”

Draco nods and turns, breaking into a sprint and running full speed toward the stairs. He’s not about to sit around waiting for the elevator, but Draco curses under his breath as he flies down the three flights of stairs to get to the Floo on the ground floor, jumping steps as he goes and only just managing not to break his neck in the process. 

All the while, Draco is thinking of how fucking inconvenient this is and who designed this bloody building? If he ever finds out who decided to put an Anti-Disapparition Jinx on the hospital, he’s going to strangle them. 

When Draco finally makes it to the ground floor, he’s out of breath, his lungs are burning and his heart is up in his throat, pounding so hard he thinks the veins might just burst open from the pressure at any second. He dodges other Healers and patients as he dashes out of the stairwell straight to the Floo, grateful that it’s empty and he is able to jump into it without pushing anyone out of his way.

“Harry!” Draco calls frantically as soon as he lands in their hearth. 

The house is quiet, and it feels empty outside of Draco’s frenzied energy as he runs through each room, calling out for Harry and getting nothing but silence in return. 

Draco is nearly vibrating out of his skin when he finally stops and acknowledges that Harry is not here. Which means he could be anywhere, he could be dying, he could be—No. Draco needs to stop this train of thought before he breaks down completely. He needs to stay calm and find Harry. 

A glance at the clock tells him that it’s half past five, meaning that Harry should have left the office and been arriving home right about now. Unless he stopped by the jeweller’s to get their rings, like he promised. 

Draco disapparates, jumping to the alley closest to Gerard’s Jewels, Gems and Amulets and running into the shop. A quick glance tells him Harry isn’t in there.

“Where’s Harry?” Draco demands, dashing to the counter and interrupting Gerard’s conversation with a customer. 

“Er.” Gerard blinks at him, both he and the customer look startled and confused by Draco’s abrupt appearance and hysterical state.

“Harry! Harry Potter!” Draco exclaims, gesturing impatiently. “Has he been here? Have you seen him?”

“Well, yes. He were here, left a few minutes back.”

Draco races out of the shop, down the street toward home, not bothering with a ‘thank you.’ He has to be close then, if he only left a few minutes ago. Draco ignores the horns honking at him as he runs down the street and dashes through several crosswalks, barely checking the traffic first.

_Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God,_ runs through Draco’s mind on repeat like a bad habit he can’t quit.

Then Draco’s mind empties of all thought as he turns a corner and sees a scene of chaos laid before him. Draco first sees the crowd gathering and a lorry stopped in the middle of the crossroad with a small bit of damage to its front end, then his gaze zeroes in on Harry’s car. It’s stopped at a weird angle, the driver’s side smashed in, the windows broken, the metal of the bonnet and bumper twisted grotesquely. 

Draco wants to scream, wants to call out, but his throat seizes up, and it feels like every muscle in his body has forgotten how to function. His body flashes hot and cold, and his lungs feel completely shrunken and incapable of drawing in breath. Draco can’t feel any of his limbs, all that he can feel is his heart battering itself against his breastbone like it’s trying to smash its way free of its cold, withering cage. 

His muscles have lost all strength and they’re vibrating so badly with what little effort it takes to keep standing—to keep existing. His blood is pounding so hard and fast that he can feel the arteries in his arms, neck and face pulsing, pulsing, pulsing, forcing life through his body even as he’s dying inside.

Draco’s knees go weak, he can’t feel anything below them, and he’s not sure how he stays standing up or how his feet carry him to the accident. He doesn’t remember getting from the pavement to what’s left of Harry’s car, and moving his limbs feels foreign and disconnected, like he’s a marionette being driven by a puppeteer.

The Muggles gathered around are watching Draco, asking him questions, holding their mobiles to their ears, but all of it fades into a dull buzz surrounding him. 

Harry is in the car slumped at an angle and being held up by his seat belt, the deployed airbag hanging limply from the twisted steering wheel. He’s unconscious but he looks dead, face covered in blood that’s still running down his neck and cheeks, dripping off his jaw. Red blooms from a gash across the pale yellow shirt patterned with bright pink flamingos that Draco had bought him as a joke for his 26th birthday.

Draco can’t breathe; he can’t move. He knows he needs to do something but he feels stuck, like he’s suspended in time and if he moves a muscle he’ll tear the fragile threads keeping his universe from unravelling completely. 

“... _wouldn’t it be nice?_ ”

The first and only sound to filter in through Draco’s hazy panic and the thunderous pounding of his heart is the familiar lyrics of Harry’s favourite song. And of course, _of course_ , when everything else is broken and wrecked, the one thing that would survive the accident would be the fucking stereo. 

“ _Maybe if we think, and wish, and hope, and pray it might come true_.”

Draco’s first tangible thought is that this can’t be real. This is his worst nightmare and therefore can’t be real. He’s Harry Potter. Harry Potter wouldn’t get in an accident. Harry Potter can’t die. 

“ _Baby, then there wouldn’t be a single thing we couldn’t do_.”

Harry Potter can’t die. He’s not dead, and he can’t die. Draco clings to this thought like a lifeline and uses it to try to surface from the shock drowning him. Harry won’t die because Draco is here. Draco will save him. Draco is a Healer, he knows what to do. Draco is trained for this. 

“ _We could be married_.”

Draco tries to get his mind to switch gears, to fall back onto years of training and experience working in a hospital. He knows what to do—he _should_ know what to do. He should be able to be calm in an emergency where someone’s life is on the line, except this isn’t just anyone, this is Harry.

“ _And then we’d be happy_.”

Draco pulls out his wand, hands shaking so badly he almost drops it. His mind whirls trying to figure out how to approach the situation and what spell he needs to cast first. It comes to him in bits and pieces, and not in the right order. 

“ _Wouldn’t it be nice?_ ”

Draco knows he needs to stop the bleeding, and he raises his wand to do so before stopping and realising he can’t do that without knowing what’s happening internally first, right? He needs to get Harry out of the car, but with the way his legs are crushed under the mangled, caved in door he would probably start bleeding out as soon as Draco vanished it. Draco should cast a Stasis Charm to—but no, he needs to cast a Diagnostic Charm first. Or is it the other way round?

“ _You know it seems the more we talk about it_.”

Draco has barely noticed the Muggles around him, nothing but a faint buzz in the background of the dirge drumming an unrelenting rhythm through his veins. It’s not until the buzzing gets louder and closer, becoming almost distinguishable as language, that Draco looks over and notices a Muggle talking to him. 

“...you know him?” the Muggle asks, reaching halfway toward Draco in some alien gesture of comfort or reassurance that Draco wants none of. “It’s okay, the ambulance is on the way. They’ll get him out, they’ll be here any moment.”

“ _It only makes it worse to live without it_.”

But no, that can’t happen. Draco can’t let that happen. He knows the Muggle doctors won’t be able to heal Harry properly. The words are finally enough to get the gears unwedged in his brain and get some reason to return. 

“ _But let’s talk about it_.”

It’s a Stasis Charm, of course. Draco needs to halt whatever damage is currently happening and he raises his wand to do so. His hand is still unsteady but he manages to cast the spell. Once that’s done, Draco raises his wand to call the St Mungo’s Emergency Muggle Transport. 

“ _Wouldn’t it be nice?_ ” the song finally fades out, just in time for Draco to get his senses back.

Not a second later, the familiar ambulance comes careening around the corner, flashing its blue lights, and pulls up to the accident just as a Muggle ambulance would. Draco recognises the Emergency Muggle Responders when they hop out of the vehicle and rush to the car. 

“Harry—” is all Draco manages to get out breathlessly, the rest of the words getting stuck in his throat.

“It’s alright, Malfoy. We’ve got this,” Clarence says, bodily urging Draco to take a couple steps back so they can do what they need to. 

Clarence and Tobi use what look like Muggle tools—but what Draco knows are actually charmed tools—to remove the door from the car. They wrap Harry’s neck and cast some spells discreetly before moving him to a gurney and transferring him into the ambulance. Draco jumps into the back with Harry, watching it all play out in slow motion. 

The ride to St Mungo’s seems to take a lifetime, though Draco knows that it takes no longer than a ride on the Knight Bus would as the ambulance uses similar magic. He spends it touching Harry, clutching at him, needing to feel the warmth of his skin and the pulse beneath it—needing the physical reassurance of his continued survival.

Harry’s face looks too peaceful for the blood staining it. His dark skin looks oddly pale, a shade Draco’s never seen it before. His arms are covered in lacerations and blood, and his right looks broken. His legs, especially his right, are twisted grotesquely, skin ripped open and bones made visible through his torn jeans. 

Clarence is in the back with Draco, asking him questions that Draco barely hears and answers on autopilot. “I don’t know—I wasn’t there—I didn’t see it happen—I don’t know.”

Before Draco has time to really process the situation, the EMRs are unloading Harry and taking him into St Mungo’s, and Draco follows after in a daze. When they take him through to the Emergency Care area, Draco is stopped from following by a witch he knows but can’t remember the name of at the moment. She directs him to the waiting area and puts a roll of parchment in his hand which asks about Harry’s medical history. 

Draco takes the parchment and sits down numbly. He knows she says something to him before leaving, but the words don’t register. 

There’s a low ringing in Draco’s ears, a single note played out endlessly. His brain feels like overcooked cabbage, limp and rubbery. 

He looks down at the parchment and the quill in his hand that he doesn’t remember taking. The edges of his vision blur, everything else fading out as Draco tries to concentrate on the form. He gets through ‘Harry Ja’ before his hand is shaking too badly to continue, spattering the fresh parchment with splotches of ink just like the patterns of blood speckled all over Harry’s skin.

How could this have happened? Draco knows he always calls that car a Muggle Death Trap, but he never meant for it to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Not now, not after everything it took for them to get here—years of struggling with their own feelings, arguing with each other, trying to reconcile their families—

_Their families_. Oh, Merlin. Draco needs to tell Harry’s family what happened. 

Draco puts the parchment and quill down on a chair next to him and draws his wand. His hands are still shaking, but he needs to send a Patronus to Ron and Hermione, Molly and Arthur, and Andromeda and Teddy. 

“Ex—Expecto Patronum!” Draco tries to remember what it felt like the first time he’d cast his Patronus after months of Harry training him. He tries to recall his memory of their first kiss, but all he can see is Harry’s bloody face. He can almost taste the iron on Harry's lips, and the spell catches as his throat constricts. It produces not even the faintest wisps of a Patronus. 

Draco tries again, but he can’t do it, not now. He’s never felt such all-consuming despair in his entire life. Not even the war came close to this.

His legs still feel unsteady, but he makes it to Alice—the receptionist’s name comes back to him suddenly—and asks her to send word to Harry’s family of what’s happened. 

Then he’s back in his chair, parchment and quill in hand, trying to fill out Harry’s health form but not quite able to recall even the simplest facts. Draco can’t focus well enough to remember if Harry is allergic to any potions because his mind is a whirlwind of what if’s and if only’s. 

Draco has wanted this life for so long. He was so happy when Harry finally agreed to get married, and he’s been going crazy trying to make their wedding perfect because this is it for Draco. This is everything he wants—Harry is everything he wants—and if he loses Harry now, what would be the point? 

Without Harry, Draco’s life would fall apart. And now, if Harry survives this, would he even want Draco anymore? What’s the point of marrying a Healer if they can’t even raise a wand to help you when you’re dying? If they’re so useless that they can’t even fill out a standard healthcare form without breaking down? 

Maybe if Draco had got up earlier that morning, maybe if he had convinced Harry to neck a little longer, maybe if he hadn’t found his shoe and let Harry waste a few more precious minutes looking for it. 

Maybe if he’d won the argument about that fucking car. None of this would have happened if Harry hadn’t been on the road. Draco knew, he _knew_ he should have pushed harder, but Harry is so bloody stubborn. If—

Draco’s thoughts are interrupted by an owl swooping over his head and dropping an envelope from its beak into Draco’s lap. The owl turns and sweeps gracefully out of the atrium the way it had come in.

Draco picks up the envelope, holding it up and turning it over delicately. He immediately recognises the Ministry’s seal, but his mind is too fogged with current events to even guess as to its purpose. With trembling hands, Draco rips the thick paper of the envelope open, pulls out the letter and unfolds it. His stomach drops out as his eyes move across the words.

> Dear Mr. Malfoy,
> 
> We have received intelligence that you performed the Stasis Charm at twenty-seven minutes past five this afternoon in a Muggle-inhabited area and within the presence of Muggles. 
> 
> As this offence is a breach of section 13 of the International Confederation of Wizards’ Statute of Secrecy, we regret to inform you that your presence is required at a disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic at 8 A.M. on the third of April.
> 
> Yours sincerely,  
>  Jane Westrup  
>  Improper Use of Magic Office  
>  Ministry of Magic

From the moment he had seen his wand tip glowing red, Draco has felt tense and stretched to his limit, pulled taut like a piano wire and on the verge of snapping. He’s been trying to collect himself, trying to pull himself together, but this is the last straw, and Draco breaks.

The paper crumples between his fingers, then drops into his lap as Draco releases it. He goes to cover his face with his hands, but stops when he sees the blood on them—Harry’s blood. His fingers are shaking as he stares at them, held palm-up.

The ringing in his ears becomes louder and drowns out all other sound around him. His breathing turns shallow and unsteady as his eyes start to sting. His throat closes, and he tries to swallow to relax the muscles but it doesn’t help.

He tries to stop it. He tries to compartmentalise his emotions the way he learned to from an early age, the way he’d got through living with Voldemort without crying, but he can't.

Tears gather in his eyes and roll down his cheeks, making the vision of his blood-stained hands swim before him. Draco closes his eyes, drops his head and chokes down a sob.

He’s not crying, Malfoys _don’t cry_. A vision of his stoic father slips into his mind, cold and disapproving, a man Draco has never once seen cry, not even during the war or what followed. 

But Draco is crying, and he can’t stop it because this is different. This is Harry. And, what if? What if?

A small whimper makes it through Draco’s tightly pressed lips, and he breaks open his eyes to stare down at his red painted hands. 

Draco should be in there with Harry right now. He should be the one healing him, saving him, but instead he’s out here, crying and utterly useless, so shaken that he probably couldn’t even cast the spells necessary to heal Harry, let alone remember them. 

Draco knows there are other people in the waiting room around him, but he’s been largely unaware of them. He doesn’t want anyone to see him crying in this moment of weakness, but he can’t stop, not when he can’t stop thinking how Harry could be dead and it was Draco fault. 

If only he hadn’t frozen, if only he hadn’t failed his partner in such a critical moment, if only—

A hand slips over Draco’s wrist and makes him start and look up. Molly Weasley is sitting next to him, watching him with soft, concerned eyes. She has that crease in her forehead that Draco knows means she’s worried and trying to contain it. Arthur is standing next to her, a hand on her shoulder, looking at Draco with a similar expression. Arthur nods at him, and Draco quickly wipes at the tears with his sleeve self-consciously. 

Molly’s lips tip up in a small, sombre smile. “Have you heard anything?” she asks hesitantly.

Draco wants to explain because if anyone deserves an explanation of what happened, it’s this compassionate woman who had taken Harry in and treated him like her own—the only mother Harry has ever known. Draco opens his mouth to try to explain the situation, but the words get caught in his throat and only a small, unintelligible noise squeaks out.

“Oh, honey,” Molly murmurs and squeezes his wrist, reaching up to put the other on the side of his face and wipe at a fresh stream of tears. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” 

She helps pull him to his feet and lead him to the bathroom. Draco is glad for it, somehow able to take a deep breath once he in the solitude of the empty bathroom and leaning against the counter, looking at himself in the mirror. 

Draco looks a wreck, his hair tousled and his eyes red and bee-stung. He’s still in his lime green Healer robes which are sitting crooked on his shoulders and stained from the day’s earlier events that now feel like a distant dream. 

Being able to clean himself up one small step at a time helps to calm Draco. He washes the blood from his hands, then dabs around his eyes with cold water until they aren’t so swollen. He straightens his robes and fixes his hair to look more presentable.

As he looks himself in the eye in the mirror, Draco forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s going to be okay. Harry is going to be okay. They got him here on time and the Healers will take care of him. It’s going to be okay.

When Draco returns to the waiting area, Andromeda and Teddy have joined Molly and Arthur, looking harried and powdered with soot, as if they just jumped through the Floo. They all turn expectant eyes onto Draco. 

Draco sits down next to Molly. “It was a car accident,” he jumps right into it, fighting to keep his voice steady. “A lorry hit him. On his side of the car.” 

Molly draws in a sharp breath, Andromeda puts a hand over her heart, Arthur closes his eyes briefly and Teddy’s hair turns a drab, greyish-blue. 

“He—his injuries were extensive. His legs were the worst. I—he was unconscious when I got to him. I’ve only just brought him in. He’s in Emergency Care, they wouldn’t let me—I haven’t heard anything yet.”

“Okay. I’m so glad you were there for him,” Molly says, and she’s looking at him so sincerely that Draco’s eyes drop, unable to hold her gaze. “Thank you. For taking care of him.”

Draco’s face twists and his throat clenches, and he has to take a deep breath to quash a new round of tears threatening to break free. He can only nod in response, and Molly rubs a hand over his shoulders comfortingly. 

“Don’t worry about the paperwork, we filled it out,” Arthur tells him when Draco looks around for it, and then he nods gratefully. 

Arthur also hands him his letter from the Ministry, which has been folded and put back in the envelope. Draco pockets it and looks between him and Molly curiously, wondering if they’d read it. 

“It’ll be alright. You were saving Harry’s life, they won’t charge you with anything,” Arthur reassures him. “Especially if it’s your first offence.”

Draco nods, though he’s not sure if he actually believes it. 

Not a minute later, Ron and Ginny rush in, soon followed by Hermione. Molly takes over informing them each of what’s happened and Draco is relieved to not have to repeat himself each time someone new appears.

Two hours later a Healer comes out to tell them of Harry’s condition, that he’s stabilised but they’re still working to repair his legs. She gives them a rundown of his injuries, starting with his concussion and ending with how he’d fractured his tibia and fibula in both legs. He’s still in Emergency Care and they are still not allowed to see him.

Once they hear the update and know that they’re in for more waiting, Molly leaves briefly and then brings back food for everyone. 

Draco manages to eat some of it at Molly’s insistence, and he feels calmer for having something in his stomach and being surrounded by the love of Harry’s family. 

It’s another hour before Harry is removed from Emergency Care. The Healers take him to one of the private rooms to rest, and they’re finally allowed to see him.

Draco knows these halls. He knows the path. He knows the colours and the smells and the people, but for the first time since starting here as a Healer eleven years ago, Draco feels like a stranger within its walls. Nothing looks right. The colours seem off, the lighting seems stark and artificial. The familiar faces of people he’s seen nearly every day for years are twisted into strange, pitying expressions he’s never before been on the receiving end of.

When they get to his room, Harry is on a lot of potions and still unconscious. It’s almost strange to see him cleaned up and put back together after how he looked just a short few hours ago. 

Draco sits by his bed, takes his hand and doesn’t move. 

It’s almost an hour later when Harry finally wakes up. It starts with a small groan, then Draco feels Harry’s fingers twitch and curl around his. He rolls his head on his pillow toward Draco and gradually opens his eyes, then slowly blinks a few times.

The edges of Harry’s mouth curl up into a tired smile when he sees him, and Draco swallows hard as his throat threatens to close up on him again.

“Hey, babe,” Harry says, his voice small and scratchy. It’s the same greeting he always gets from Harry as soon as he gets home.

“Hi, love,” Draco barely gets out, strained and quiet. It’s the same greeting he always gives Harry in return.

Draco watches the movement of Harry’s throat as he tries to swallow, then looks around for a cup of water the Healer had left. Molly is standing next to him suddenly, holding it out to him, he mumbles his thanks and takes it from her. 

Harry glances around then, noticing how his bed is surrounded by his friends and family.

“Oh, hey guys,” he croaks out, getting a chorus of varied greetings in return. He’s struggling to sit up, so Draco gives him a hand and, once he’s situated, gives him the cup of water. 

“How do you feel?” Molly asks after Harry’s drained the cup and given it back to Draco.

Draco sets it aside and takes Harry’s hand again, squeezing gently and feeling a responding pressure.

“Tired. Sore. Loopy. They must have put me on the good stuff,” Harry says with a crooked grin, rubbing the side of his face like he’s trying to wipe away the grogginess. 

Ron chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll bet they did. You were in Emergency Care for, what? Over three hours, about.” He glances at Draco for confirmation and Draco nods.

Harry’s eyebrows raise at that. “Car accident?” he guesses.

“Yeah,” Ron answers. “You don’t remember?”

“No, not really. I’m guessing it was a bad one, then?” Harry asks wryly.

“You were t-boned by a lorry, Harry,” Hermione jumps in impatiently in that straightforward, no-nonsense way she has, clearly not appreciating Harry making light of the situation. She then proceeds to list all of Harry’s injuries for him. 

“Of course it was bad. You had a concussion, whiplash, damage to your spine, fractured ribs, multiple lacerations, broken arm, you broke both of the bones in both of your legs so badly the bones were visible. One of the arteries in your leg tore. It’s lucky you were crushed by the door and it kept pressure on the artery so you didn’t bleed out. It’s also lucky that Draco was able to get to you so quickly.”

Her voice trembles just a little, and Draco can tell by her tone and how the skin is pinched around her mouth and eyes that she’s using her knowledge of the facts and the opportunity to explain them as a way of coping with how upset she really is. 

“Oh,” is all Harry says in response, looking properly chastised. 

“They said there shouldn’t be any permanent damage,” Hermione continues a little more softly. “They did a good job healing you.” 

Harry nods, then looks at Draco in question, “Did you…?”

“No,” Draco says and shakes his head shortly. “They wouldn’t let me. And I—” _I couldn’t_ , Draco can’t force the rest of the sentence out. Harry seems to understand anyway, squeezing his hand and then bringing it up to kiss his fingers with chapped lips. 

Draco gives him a small smile. Harry returns it, but then his brows drop in confusion. “How did you know?”

Draco twitches, darting a short glance away guiltily. But then he realises that he’s not guilty and he shouldn’t feel that he is, because he was right and it _was_ a good idea. It saved Harry’s life.

“I put a Lifeline tracker on you,” Draco answers. “Back before you quit the Aurors.”

Harry’s brows furrow even deeper, mouth tilting down to match. “I thought I told you that wasn’t necessary.”

“And I told you I was going to do it regardless of what you thought,” Draco snaps back. 

Harry’s got that stubborn expression on his face like he wants to argue with Draco’s decision to do it without telling him. Draco raises his eyebrows at him in warning—this is not the time to argue and Harry would definitely lose this particular battle. 

Harry’s expression relaxes. He sighs and shakes his head, the edges of his lips curling up into a small smile. Draco squeezes his hand again and Harry threads their fingers together.

After a moment where Harry and Draco just look at each other, needing to feel that connection, Harry looks around suddenly at everyone. 

“What time is it?” he asks.

“Gone midnight now, I’d imagine,” Ginny answers, and Andromeda confirms it with a Tempus. 

Harry looks a little surprised by that. “It’s late, you guys should go home, get some rest. Thank you for visiting, but I feel fine, really.” 

Teddy is the first to lean over the bed and wrap Harry in a tight hug. He and Andromeda leave first, and after that everyone else slowly filters outs. 

When they’re alone Harry looks at Draco with a small, mischievous smile and says, “So I forgot to call the florist. Still planning to rim you tonight.”

Draco chokes out a surprised laugh. “Not likely,” he snorts. “I told you that you’d get none of that if you forgot one of your tasks again.” 

Harry chuckles quietly, expression soft and fond. After a moment the expression fades, turning concerned. 

“Are you angry?” Harry asks quietly.

Draco furrows his brow in confusion. “Of course not.”

“I mean about the accident,” Harry clarifies. 

Draco relaxes and reaches forward, putting a hand on the side of Harry’s face. His jaw is prickly with the stubble that’s grown in since this morning. 

“Yes, but not at you. I’m angry at whatever incompetent Muggle thought it was alright to nearly take you from me.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up. “You’re not going to chew me out for my Muggle Death Trap?” 

Draco shakes his head and says quietly, “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

Harry reaches for him, so Draco leans forward and meets him in a soft kiss. It’s slow and tender, and it makes Draco’s eyes prickle with tears. It’s a reassurance Draco didn’t realise how badly he’d needed until now, and a small whimper escapes his lips. 

When they pull away, Harry is looking at him with such love and affection and Draco finally feels the knot in his stomach start to loosen. None of the tears slip out, but he knows Harry can see how red and watery his eyes are. 

Harry’s hand slips down Draco’s chest and stops over the crusty stain from this morning. His eyes drop to examine it, then he looks back up at Draco. 

“Bad day?” he asks, just like he always does when Draco comes home a mess.

Draco’s face twists. “The worst,” he barely chokes out.

“Come here,” Harry whispers and tugs at Draco’s hand. 

Draco follows the pulling and climbs into the bed with him, and Harry scoots over to give him room. Draco tries to be careful, but Harry doesn’t. He pulls Draco to him and wrangles him into their usual sleeping position, wrapping around him and pillowing his head onto Draco’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Harry murmurs, running his fingers through Draco’s hair again and again. “I’m okay.”

Draco can’t help feeling that it’s a little ridiculous—him reassuring Draco when it was Harry that almost died today.

Before long Harry falls asleep from the potions and the healing taking so much out of him. It takes Draco awhile longer to fall asleep, but he breathes easier being able to feel Harry’s body pressed against his own, solid and warm and whole.

\- — -

They only make Harry stay the one night. The Healers run tests on him the next day and then send them home with several potions and instructions to take it easy.

Draco takes a week off of work so that he can stay home and take care of Harry, despite Harry’s protests that it’s unnecessary. Harry argues that he feels fine and he’s not inept, but Draco knows how draining the healing process is, how delicate the newly regrown tissue is, and how dopey the potions can make him. 

Draco’s old nightmares of Harry dying have returned with a vengeance, and on the second morning of being home Draco starts awake from one of them. His body is cold and clammy, and his heart is racing in his chest when his eyes fly open and he bolts up, the sheet slipping down his chest as he does. 

Immediately Draco senses that something is wrong with the situation, and when he looks and reaches over for Harry, Harry’s side of the bed is empty. His hand runs over the sheets and they’re cold.

Draco’s heartbeat ratchets up another gear, thundering against his chest as a cold feeling of dread sweeps through his body and a tidal wave crashes through his ears, rushing in and out, drowning everything else around him.

Not bothering to throw on a shirt, Draco dashes downstairs in just his pyjama bottoms. The scene he bursts into is a familiar one—Harry at the stove swaying his hips and singing along to the Muggle music from his CD player on the counter. 

“ _We could be married_ ,” plays from the stereo, and the lyrics hit Draco like a knife to the gut. His whole world narrows down to that song. The song that was playing while Harry was dying and Draco was frozen, unable to do anything about it. 

“ _And then we’d be happy_.”

Images of Harry slumped in the car, covered in blood, broken and nearly lifeless flood Draco’s mind. His hands immediately begin to shake, his breathing becomes unsteady and shallow. 

“ _Wouldn’t it be nice?_ ”

Once again Draco feels so helpless, so useless while everything he cares about is being torn from his grasp. Except this time, Draco can stop it if he can just stop that song. 

“ _CONFRINGO!_ ” Before he even knows what he’s doing, his wand is in his hand and then the CD player is exploding into a thousand tiny pieces. 

Harry gasps and immediately jumps back. He stares open-mouthed as the shards of his stereo rain down over the counter and the floor. 

When it’s stopped, the room turns almost dead silent except for Draco’s panting.

Harry whirls on Draco, expression thunderous. “What. The. _Fuck_.” His words are loud and heavily enunciated. 

“You and that fucking song!” Draco curses at him.

“Did you seriously just Confringo the stereo because you don’t like _the song_?” Harry demands incredulously. “You could have just turned it off! You didn’t have to blow the whole fucking thing up!”

“You have no idea!” Draco yells at him. “And you shouldn’t be up! What do you think I’m supposed to think when I woke up to find you gone?”

“Draco, I’ve told you over and over that I’m fine! Fully healed, that’s why they sent me home,” Harry snarks.

“You don’t know that! Who’s the Healer here? And you’re here under _my_ care!”

“I think I know how my own goddamn body feels!”

“You would! Everyone always thinks that once the spell’s done then—” Draco snaps his fingers. “—bam! They’re fine and nothing can go wrong, but it’s not that simple! All that new tissue is still delicate and draining on your magical core to be healing. You could tear your femoral artery again so easily! You have no idea just how close you came to dying, and if you tore that artery again now you might—you might—”

As Draco’s words catch in his throat and his tone goes up in worry, Harry’s expression slowly morphs from one of fury to one of understanding. 

“Oh, babe,” Harry says gently, taking a step closer and reaching out to Draco. “We’ve been over this. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“No it’s not!” Draco snaps, clenching his fists and holding his arms tight to his sides. “You didn’t see! You got to be unconscious for the whole thing! You didn’t have to see the love of your life pale and cold and lifeless! You didn’t see how much blood there was! How your broken bones had torn from your flesh!” 

His gut twists from remembering the scene. Draco’s breathing has become more laboured, his hands are shaking and he’s sure that he’s red in the face, but he hates how dismissive Harry is being about this and he just can’t hold it in any longer.

“You didn’t see your mangled body trapped in that car! The whole bloody thing was destroyed, but that damned song was still playing while you were—while you were just sitting there, dying, and I—I froze. I just froze and I couldn’t do anything to stop it. I couldn’t—”

Draco’s breaths become short and panicked, and he feels as if there’s not enough oxygen in the air. His throat constricts and his eyes burn with tears, his heart jackrabbiting in his chest.

Harry’s eyes widen in surprise at the sight of Draco so rattled and emotional. He moves quickly to Draco’s side, running a hand up his neck and then holding it there on his nape, making Draco keep eye contact with him.

“Okay, just breathe, just breathe,” Harry says, calm and firm.

Draco grips at Harry’s shirt with trembling hands and pulls him closer, taking in a shuddering breath. 

“It’s alright, I’m alright,” Harry murmurs softly. “We’re alright.”

Draco closes his eyes tightly and crumples into Harry. Harry kisses his eyelid and leans his forehead to Draco’s temple, circling a hand around his waist. 

Draco keeps breathing raggedly, fighting down the tears and the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. 

After several long minutes, Draco has managed to calm down and he pulls away enough that he can look at Harry apologetically. But despite Draco being the one to nearly breakdown, Harry is wearing a guilty expression on his face. 

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise just how hard this was on you,” Harry says. 

“You almost _died_ , Harry,” Draco says raggedly. “I don’t know what I would have done. I _didn’t_ know what to do. I just—I just froze. And then in the hospital I couldn’t even fill out a basic fucking health form. And then the Ministry…” Draco trails off with a shake of his head.

Harry pulls back further and blinks up at him, brow furrowed. “What about the Ministry?”

Draco sighs and briefly closes his eyes. With everything that had gone on, Draco kept forgetting to tell Harry. It just seemed more important to take care of him now and worry about that later. 

“They sent me a letter. A summons for my court date next week.”

Harry’s expression turns darker. “For what?”

Draco lets go of him and turns away to start cleaning up the mess on the counter. “I cast a Stasis on you at the accident in front of Muggles.” 

“Oh,” Harry says, and then a hand comes up to rub over Draco’s back and he looks up to meet Harry’s gaze. “Well they’re all going to feel like major fucking pricks when they realise they’ve pulled you into court for saving Harry Potter.”

Draco snorts. “Charming, Harry,” he says, tone as dry as the Gobi Desert. 

Even though Harry’s helped to allay his fears, Draco can’t help but still feel tense and worried over the situation. His throat is still tight, and he tries to swallow it down and push his emotions away. Harry seems to pick up on it because he runs a hand up Draco’s neck and pulls him into a short kiss. 

“It’s okay, everything is going to be okay,” Harry says softly against his cheek. 

Draco sighs and slips a hand around Harry’s waist. “I know, it’s just…” he trails off.

“I’ve never seen you this shaken,” Harry comments, and Draco gives a rueful smile. 

He hates that his emotions have been so wild and close to the surface through all this. Draco is normally so good at keeping his composure, but he’s also never watched the man he loves almost die before. 

“You know this stupid summons is no big deal. At best they’ll all be shaking your hand and thanking you,” Harry says and Draco huffs out a laugh. “At _worst_ it’ll be a slap on the wrist, a fine maybe. We’ll get through this like we do everything else.” 

Draco nods as Harry’s hand comes up and rubs at the nape of his neck soothingly. 

“Trust me, I’m not going anywhere and I’m not letting you go anywhere either. It took nine years and three proposals to get you to finally agree to marry me.”

Draco snorts and lightly smacks the back of his hand against Harry’s chest. Harry knows damn well that _Draco_ had been the one to do all the proposals and all the convincing. 

“And after all that,” Harry continues with a grin, “I’m not going to let you ferret out of it now, alright?” 

Draco laughs, and then oddly he feels close to tears again. He hadn’t realised how badly he’d needed to hear Harry confirm that the marriage was still on, despite how royally Draco failed him.

“Besides, how would I ever find my left shoe if you go away to Azkaban?” 

Draco kisses him, then chuckles against his lips. “I imagine you’d have to hobble around with only one.”

Harry smacks his arse, pulling back to look at him with fond, warm eyes. “I love you,” he says softly. “Even though you owe me a new stereo.”

Draco laughs, but he nods and returns, “I love you, too.” 

Draco leans in for another kiss. It’s slow and sweet, warm and familiar, without any real heat behind it—it’s more about connection and assurance and an affirmation of the strength of their relationship. 

After he pulls back, Harry’s mouth quirks up in a crooked smile. “So,” he begins slowly, “if I call the florist today…” And Draco laughs warmly. 

He knows that things will still be difficult for a while, his nightmares aren’t going to just go away, and he’ll probably drive Harry round the bend with his mothering. After the events of the last few days, Draco can’t quite feel settled enough to trust in the permanence of anything, but he’s cautiously hopeful for their future because Harry is still here.

Harry is still here, and he still loves Draco, and he still wants to marry him. It wasn’t easy building what they had together, it had taken years to create the kind of world where they belong, but they had done it and Draco would never again take it for granted. So long as he never has to listen to that bloody song.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came to me in a flash of inspiration from (of all things) [this adorable little video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QpS-G6J_Jz8) of a bird dancing to Wouldn't It Be Nice. It's twelve seconds longs, seriously, go watch it! And thank you for reading!


End file.
